Mycroft Nags
by supremegreendragon
Summary: And it annoys Sherlock to no end.
1. About Bills

Sherlock, seeing as how you simply will not answer your phone when I call you I'm just going to have to send you a long, long, long series of texts. You put this on yourself.

x

It has come to my attention that you haven't paid your electric bill. And you've been living in the dark these past few days. Why aren't you paying your bills? Are you having money trouble? Get a real job if the detective work isn't enough.

x

I'm still willing to let you work for me you know...Benefits. We have great benefits.

x

Keep ignoring me if you like but how are you going to live without electricity? Those body parts won't last very long without being refrigerated. Then all your experimentation will go to waste.

x

Your water bill's due soon. Pay it. You need it to practice proper hygiene, you know? You can't very well take a shower without water.

x

I remember when you were young. You never wanted to take a bath. Remember that time when you ran away while Mummy was preparing the bath for you? You ran through the streets stark naked. Our neighbor thought you were the cutest thing.

x

Mycroft, shut it.

-SH

x

You responded! I'm so happy that we're finally communicating. Pay your bills.

x

It's been three days and you hadn't text anything back. Nor have you paid your bills yet. Fine, I might as well tell your bath story to everyone I meet.

x

You wouldn't dare.

-SH

x

But why would you care what people thought? Aren't you a sociopath? ;-)

x

For your information I was just about to pay my bills. I'm getting tired of charging my phone in the library anyway.

-SH

x

I'm glad you at least charge your phone. Pay your bills Sherlock and have a wonderful day. =D

-MH


	2. About Food part 1

Sherlock inwardly cursed when Mycroft entered his flat unwanted, uninvited but not unexpectedly. The elder man smiled in, for the untrained eye, a genuine fashion. But Sherlock could clearly see the smug hidden underneath. Mycroft stood in front of Sherlock while Sherlock was seated in his favorite chair.

"Good day, baby brother."

He didn't get a response. Sherlock forced his attention on the wall like it was much more interesting to look at than his older brother.

Mycroft took the opportunity to sit down in a chair that was facing Sherlock. He arched an eyebrow.

"Aren't you going to offer me tea or something, Sherlock? That's what you should do with guests."

"Why are you here?" Sherlock kept looking at the wall.

The elder man gave a quick glance at the empty containers of Chinese take-out that littered the table. Some had even fallen to the floor.

"How's your diet going?"

It was Mycroft, not Sherlock, who asked the question, earning a quizzical look from the younger Holmes. Mycroft was happy to have Sherlock at least looking at him.

"I mean in the traditional sense of course. The scientific definition of 'diet.' How have you been eating lately?"

"Can you not tell from those?" Sherlock nodded towards the take-out containers.

"I can tell those are a few days old," Mycroft stated, "What have you eaten today?"

Sherlock shifted in his seat to get more comfortable.

"An egg sandwich."

"When did you eat this?"

"This morning."

"What time?"

"Six."

"It's three in the afternoon now."

"So I see."

"Did you eat the entire sandwich?"

Mycroft was met with a guilty silence.

"Did you at least eat half?" he asked.

More silence. Until Sherlock stood up, deliberately towering over his brother.

"I don't need you to mother me, Mycroft. I know my limits."

Mycroft stood up as well. The two stared each other down.

"Why don't we go somewhere to eat?"

"I'd rather not dine with you."

"Then I'll treat you. We can just go through a drive through and get something fried. We won't have to dine with each other at all."

"You want me to eat fast food?" Sherlock asked, clearly not believing it.

Because Mycroft was the biggest hypocrite when it came to food. When they were young, Mycroft would always tell Sherlock to eat his vegetables. Even though Mycroft's main diet at the time consisted of muffins and chocolate milk. Whenever Sherlock had pointed this out to him, Mycroft would say the most unfair thing anyone could say to discipline a child.

"Do as I say. Not as I do," was what he said.

Mycroft fumbled with his umbrella.

"I rather you eat unhealthy than not at all. You need _something _in your system."

"I can take care of myself. You should leave now."

Mycroft set a stern gaze at Sherlock. The younger Holmes returned the heated glance. Then, Mycroft turned around, as if to leave.

"Very well then. I'll leave. But we're not through just yet. Eat something by eight or else. Don't test me Sherlock. I'll know if you don't eat anything within five hours."

"Because you have hidden cameras," Sherlock grumbled.

He knew Mycroft heard him but the older man faked ignorance.

"Don't test me," he warned in a gentle manner.

Sherlock watched him depart. He breathed in a sigh of relief. Thank god that was over with. He probably should eat. But against his better judgment he decided that he was too curious to see what Mycroft would actually do.


	3. About Food part 2

He was very dizzy when he woke up. The last thing he remembered was smelling something sweet in the air and then everything went black. Sherlock saw that he was tied to a chair, and not-so-surprisingly, Mycroft was in front of him.

"I'm glad you're sleeping more soundly, little brother."

"Piss off." Damn, Sherlock's head hurt.

Mycroft held up a plate of chicken and stir-fry. Sherlock's stomach rumbled the moment his nose smelled the food. The elder Holmes brought up a chair next to Sherlock and sat down with grace.

"You're not leaving until you eat this entirely. Are we clear?"

Sherlock's mouth was watering. Mycroft noticed this and smiled.

"I really don't want to feed you like a baby. But I can't let you have free use of your hands right now. You understand, I'm sure."

Mycroft brought a piece of chicken to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock kept his mouth firmly shut. Mycrofts grin was slowly starting to fade.

"The sooner you cooperate, the sooner we can _both_ get back to our lives."

"Why don't you go fu-" He was interrupted by the food that was shoved in his mouth.

Determined to not let his older brother win, Sherlock spat the chicken on the floor. Mycroft jumped up in disgust.

"That's it! Goodbye. I'll come back when you're ready to act like a human being!"

With that, Mycroft stormed out of the room. Sherlock wasn't quite sure where he was exactly. Something that Mycroft surely counted on. The younger Holmes struggled but couldn't get out.

An hour later Sherlock was bored. Unbelievably bored. He hated it when he was bored. Cross that, he couldn't stand being bored! He was hungry too but he wasn't going to admit it.

The door opened and Mycroft stepped in, looking much calmer than when he left.

"I'm not joking with you, Sherlock," he said grimly, "I'm going to keep you here until you eat something. And I know how you hate having nothing to do."

Sherlock slumped in defeat.

"Fine. I'll eat."

"Good. You didn't have a choice anyway."

Mycroft brought another plate. This one had battered fried fish and a mix of veggies. Mycroft sat back down on his chair.

"Vegetables first."

That was something Sherlock heard from him plenty of times growing up. Mycroft brought the food to his lips and this time Sherlock caved in. He ate in silence.

Mycroft set the plate down on the floor and untied Sherlock. The second he did, Sherlock punched him in the face.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft cried out.

Mycroft was pissed but not nearly as much as Sherlock. The younger Holmes had to pant to steady his temper.

"Don't spoon-feed me again."

Mycroft inhaled sharply.

"I won't as long as you eat. If you don't eat then I don't care how much you attack me."

Sherlock's rage died down. He knew Mycroft was only trying to help. In his own very, very strange way.

"Alright. I'll eat if it will keep you away."


	4. About Smoking part 1

When one of his secretaries told him that Sherlock was here to see him, Mycroft informed her to let him in. He had been expecting this. He just hadn't realized that it would only take Sherlock twenty-four hours before he visited.

The addiction must be worse than he had originally thought.

His little brother came though the double doors with a sour look on his face. Mycroft offered a pleasant smile, looking completely composed in his armchair.

Sherlock practically stomped his way towards the elder Holmes.

"Hello, Sherlock. What is it you need?"

"You know what I need," Sherlock grumbled, refusing to take a seat when Mycroft motioned towards one of the empty chairs.

"I'm afraid that I cannot read minds, brother," Mycroft said with false ignorance.

"No but you can control just about every shop in Britain that sells cigarettes," Sherlock's voice was harsh and accusing.

Mycroft wasn't fazed. He continued to offer a polite smile.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he said, finally.

"Then tell me," Sherlock started with a sigh, "Why every pack of smokes I buy doesn't have any tobacco in them."

"That sounds very strange," Mycroft's taunting tone would be apparent to even the dumbest person, "What could possibly be in them?"

"You know very well. Dried mint leaves."

"That would make your breath smell very nice. I don't see what the problem is."

Sherlock's face contorted with anger.

"Why are you such an ass? You don't have the right to control my life."

Finally, Mycroft frowned. His expression was now stern and serious. He pressed his hands together and lowered his head in thought.

"Really, I don't have that right? Not according to your last physical exam."

"Oh great, how much did you pay that quack doctor to give you the results?" Sherlock threw his hands in the air.

"That's not important. What's important is that your lungs are starting to look...well, bad. It doesn't seem like you have anything serious yet but I do believe this so-called 'quack' told you to be more careful."

"And I have been."

Now it was Mycroft's turn to glare.

"I hardly call two full packs a day being careful. Your stupid habit is going to get yourself killed. And for what? Temporary satisfaction until you crave for more?"

Sherlock did not want to be lectured. He wanted to smoke. His brain was sending signals demanding for more.

Mycroft was worse than any overbearing mother.

"Then just let me have a few cigarettes a day. That shouldn't be a problem," Sherlock couldn't hide the desperation in his voice.

Mycroft frowned when he saw just how bad his little brother's addiction was.

"This topic is non-negotiable. And now if you'll kindly leave, I have work to do."

Sherlock glared and turned around to leave. Before he could start walking, Mycroft said one last thing.

"And don't think you can just pay someone off the street for one. I have eyes in the back of my head. If you try, you will get caught."

"Oh, I'm so scared," Sherlock muttered sarcastically.

"Remember, Sherlock. I'm watching you," Mycroft didn't react to the sound of one of his doors slamming shut.


	5. About Smoking part 2

Sherlock saw his prey out on the streets in the dead of night. There was a good chance that Mycroft would find out, but if Sherlock could just take a few deep drags of a cigarette then it would all be worth it.

The detective stopped the man and pleaded him for a smoke. He ended up paying a full pack's worth of money for one stick. He didn't care though.

Sherlock knew that he couldn't waste any time. He began lighting his new treasure and was just about to breathe in the Heavenly ash fumes when someone tackled him from behind.

A rather big (_and surprisingly fast_, thought Sherlock) man plucked Sherlock off the ground. The detective struggled.

"Tell him to piss off!" Sherlock cried out, "And let me go, you filthy idiot!"

"Just come with me," the man said simply, as if commenting on the weather.

"I hope your minimum wage job makes this worth it," Sherlock said as he punched the man in the face.

Where did Mycroft find these people? The man's skin was like steel. Sure, Sherlock was pretty strong. But this guy must have been lifting weights since he was five.

The man put him inside the car. The driver didn't look at Sherlock as he took him to Mycroft's house. Sherlock was just grateful that he hadn't been drugged again.

The driver turned to him.

"He asked me to tell you to come in quietly. He said that if you put up a fight, he'll get a few more men to drag you inside."

Sherlock knew that no matter what he decided to do, Mycroft would still have his way. The younger Holmes got out of the car and walked towards the building.

So what if Mycroft scolded him? Sherlock knew that even if Mycroft did have a lot of power, he couldn't keep Sherlock from smoking forever. Sherlock would let Mycroft have his little rant and then the detective would be on his merry way.

But Sherlock was also really upset. He payed good money for that smoke.

When he got inside, Sherlock was escorted to Mycroft's television room. It was a rather classy interior with a screen that almost covered the entire wall. Mycroft was having tea while watching news on British politics.

Sherlock was shocked to see Mycroft smiling at him calmly. He had almost been sure that Mycroft would be glaring at him by now.

"Well, I'm here," Sherlock stated.

"I'm happy to see you. Take a seat right here," Mycroft motioned towards a chair beside him.

Sherlock hesitated. If he cooperated, he could get out of here faster. The detective sat down and looked at his older brother.

"No scolding? Really, Mycroft? We're just going to watch the telly? That sounds rather dull."

Mycroft grabbed the remote.

"I just want you to watch something. Then I'll let you go," Mycroft told him.

Sherlock sighed. What could Mycroft possibly want him to watch? The elder Holmes clicked the telly to a dvd that was inside.

He arched an eyebrow when he saw the title screen. In big, bold letters was _The Dangers of Smoking and Why You Should Quit_.

Sherlock would be laughing if he wasn't so surprised. Did Mycroft really think that this would work? He turned to his brother.

"This is too pitiful even for you. You know that this won't stop me from smoking."

Mycroft didn't stop smiling. He gave Sherlock his I'm-so-superior smirk.

"We'll just see about that. Watch this entirely. I have a good feeling that this particular self-help video will be...a tad more convincing than most others."

Sherlock frowned. What in the world did Mycroft mean by that? Exactly what was on this video?


	6. About Smoking part 3

Boring. This dvd was so utterly boring. Sherlock groaned when the man on the screen gave yet another stupid statistic of how many people died from lung cancer every year.

Mycroft said that this dvd would be more convincing than anything else. Well Sherlock had been watching for hours and he had yet to be convinced.

Finally, it was over. Sherlock clapped his hands together and stood up with a sneer.

"Well, it seems like you just went and made a fool of yourself, Mycroft. That was worse than any self-help video I had ever seen. Completely and terrible BORING."

Mycroft stood up. He smiled at his younger brother.

"Thank you for watching it. Now you may leave."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. What was Mycroft playing at? Sherlock wasn't going to stop smoking because of that stupid video. Even if it did nearly bore him to sleep.

"Fantastic," he muttered bitterly, "Then I'm leaving."

"Don't stay up too late," Mycroft advised.

Sherlock stuffed his hands inside his pockets. He gave Mycroft one last look, trying to figure out what Mycroft's plan was.

He couldn't figure anything out. The detective walked away and out of the building. He half-expected one of Mycroft's lackies to stop him. But nothing of the sort happened.

The next night, Sherlock decided that he would try again. He managed to get yet another smoke from the same bloody guy. For the same bloody price. The things he did for simple pleasures in life.

Sherlock was tucked away inside his room, the cigarette in his long fingers. He would enjoy this for as long as he could.

He put the stick in his mouth, intending to light it while biting into it. But the moment it touched his lips, he let out a cry and dropped it on his bed. He stared at it in wonder. What in the world just happened? He had no idea why he reacted that way.

Sherlock picked the stick back up and once again put it inside his mouth. The image of it being a poisonous cobra instead of a drag made him drop it again. He tried this repeatedly and dropped it every time.

He picked up his cell phone this time and dialed the number for Mycroft. Something that he hadn't done in a very long time. The phone was answered on the third ring.

"Hello, Sherlock. What is it you need?" the soft voice on the other end asked.

"What's going on? Why can't I smoke?" Sherlock demanded.

There was a pause on the other line.

"You can't smoke? What do you mean?"

Sherlock glared, even though Mycroft couldn't see.

"Don't give me that. You did something to me. Did that- Did that video hypnotize me somehow? Without me realizing it?"

But Mycroft wasn't going to admit to anything that easily.

"Look, Sherlock. You must be tired. Why don't you go and lie down? Perhaps sleep the rest of the night? You're talking nonsense," Mycroft was obviously taunting him.

"My!" Sherlock hadn't called his brother by his nickname in years, "This isn't funny! What am I suppose to do now? What have you done to me?"

It seemed that Mycroft decided that Sherlock had had enough.

"Okay. Yes. It did send some subliminal messages. This type of subliminal messaging was recently discovered by some of my best doctors. Highly effective, let me tell you. But the effects should wear off eventually."

"For how long, My?" Sherlock demanded.

"Eventually," with that, Mycroft hung up.

Sherlock cursed and threw his phone at the wall in aggravation. Stupid Mycroft!

He tried forcing himself to smoke, telling himself repeatedly that it wasn't a snake inbetween his lips. But it didn't work. Mycroft wasn't kidding when he said that it was 'highly effective.'

It turned out that 'eventually' meant eight months, three weeks, ten hours and forty-six minutes. By the time it had finally passed, Sherlock no longer craved a smoke nearly as much as before. His doctor told him that his lungs were looking much better. Mycroft was pleased to see his little brother smoking only a few times a month.

One morning, Mycroft found out that all the cake in his house had disappeared. What kind of thief stole something like that? He was both bewildered and cranky that he didn't have his favorite after-work snack. It was a holiday too, and all the bakeries were closed.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was smirking while taking a bite of some delicious chocolate cake. Sweet victory.


End file.
